


Secret for a Snake

by keyflight790



Series: Hogwarts House Unity [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry Vibes, Draco is sneaky, M/M, Masturbation, Potter is desperate for it, but no...sexual relations at this time, like a snake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: A Slytherin can hold a secret, even from himself.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Hogwarts House Unity [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568878
Comments: 13
Kudos: 176
Collections: Daily Deviant





	Secret for a Snake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarchnoGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl/gifts).



> This is a continuation of ["Dare for a Lion" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224766) in the series. If you haven't read that one, I'd recommend that you do. 
> 
> Written for Daily Deviants April 2020 prompt, quirophilia (arousal or fetish of hands)
> 
> Gifted to Ale, you are such a good friend, darling. Thank you for your encouragement.
> 
> Showers of praise to my beta, M0stlyvoid, who helped clean up this mess.

Draco didn’t tell anyone about his run-in with Potter the previous evening. Secrets were like currency in Slytherin House, and Draco wasn’t about to let everyone know how many Galleons he was holding with that one.

How Potter had looked, his hair absolutely destroyed, his eyes glossy, his chest covered in…

His mind had short-circuited when he realised what Potter had all over his bare chest.

Draco had followed Potter into the showers, mumbling about studying the next night, no time for parties, but he couldn’t look away from the long expanse of skin above Potter’s knotted towel, the glisten of spunk splattered across his tanned and toned skin. He watched as Potter wandered into the closest shower stall, throwing a wink back at Draco before pulling the curtain taut.

Choosing the stall directly next to Potter had happened almost instinctively. Sharing a corridor with all of the eighth years had seemed torturous, but at least each previous house still had their own rooms. He didn’t have to bunk with a Hufflepuff, or gods forbid, a Gryffindor, but they still all shared the bank of showers, the cubbies of loos. He’d seen his fair share of fellow students barely clad in nothing but a towel and house slippers, but whenever Zacharias Smith or Ernie MacMillan were in the bathroom, Draco was able to steer clear.

He always seemed to end up next to Potter, though. Near the sinks, by the toilets, in the shower stall directly to the right of the Chosen One.

At first, Draco had blamed it on necessity. The showers were crowded in the morning, or after a game of two-a-side Quidditch, or after Care of Magical Creatures when they had to withdraw dung from the cages of Thestrals.

Then Draco blamed it on the smell of Potter’s shampoo. It reminded him of home, the smell of citrus and honeysuckle. Draco’s own lavender-scented potions had muddled his nose from years of use, and he hardly smelled anything as he poured it into his palm and worked it into his hair. But Potter’s sharp floral and lime always made their way to Draco, cutting through the spray of water and other surrounding smells.

But in the end, Draco knew the real reason he gravitated towards the stall nearest his biggest nemesis. He’d never say it aloud, though. A Slytherin can hold a secret, even from himself.

So he had washed himself, scrubbing his own potion into his locks and tried not to imagine what the boy next to him was doing. What he was wiping off of his own chest, maybe with his fingers, maybe bringing each one to his lips to lick them clean before letting the runnels of water wipe off the remnants of desire.

He certainly wasn’t trying to imagine how all of that spunk got there in the first place. Whether Potter had wanked himself raw, coating his chest multiple times with his own pleasure. Or whether it was someone else’s, holding him still as they painted his muscled chest with their own seed.

Draco had shaken the water out of his hair, trying to rid the image of someone else claiming Potter. No. That would not do.

He woke, sudden and hard the next morning, resentful of the boys around him snoring and breathing, at peace, without the images of Potter covered in sticky substances running through their minds.

He knew he could pull his curtains closed, send up some privacy charms and pull at his length to relieve the pressure. He’d surely come in an instant, his mind still full and his hand steady. Instead, he gathered his towel and pressed it against his morning hard-on before marching to the showers.

One was already on, the steam billowing above the stall, the mirrors already foggy. He huffed, annoyed that he wouldn’t have the space to himself as he wanked and washed, and haphazardly threw his towel onto the sink before tugging off his clothes.

That’s when he heard it; when his hand was gripping the sides of his silken pants, so predatorily close to his burgeoning need.

“Malfoy.”

The sound rose above the shower spray, curling around Draco as he padded to his own stall. It came out like a moan, desperate, needy and as hot as the water that was producing all that steam.

Draco froze. He recognized that voice, having spent the previous night hearing it over and over in his dreams. However, he was very, very much awake, very close to to the yearning sound, and yet he still couldn’t believe that it was-

“Oh god, Malfoy.”

There was no denying it now. That was definitely the breathy moan of Potter.

Potter, who was currently showering, probably naked. Potter, who was moaning his name.

His mind was racing while his feet remained rooted to the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Should he say something? Should he walk right back out and pretend that he never entered the loo at all? Or should he peel away the thin shower curtain, march into the stall, and coat Potter’s chest with the same filth that covered him the night before?

Draco ended up doing none of that, and instead tiptoed into the closest empty stall, the one that just so happened to share a tiled wall with Potter. He leaned against the other side, tucking his feet back as far as possible and hoping that they wouldn’t be visible should Potter glance towards the floor.

He dropped his towel from around his waist, hanging it on the closest hook, and with the barest of whispers he conjured lube into the palm of his hand. He was already hard, his morning erection only increased by the current circumstances.

The sounds were still escaping the stall, moans and huffs of breath as the shower cascaded down. Draco wondered if the water was hitting Potter’s shoulders, running down his bare back, collecting in large droplets at the base of his spine. He thought about his hands, if his fingers were tracing circles around his nipples, if they were taunting and pinching his sweet nubs.

Or if those fingers, the ones that Draco had stared at as they wrapped around the thick handle of a broom, and stirred cauldron ingredients with such delicacy, were somewhere else. Clasped around something harder. Something longer. Something thicker.

He wondered if those hands were coarse, if they’d feel rough as they ran down Draco’s sides. Would they be strong as they gripped onto his hips. Would they leave little purple bruises from pressing into his delicate skin too hard.

Draco let his own hands, slick with lubricant, caress his throat. He imagined it was Harry’s hand there, pressing into his neck, holding him still as he stared deep into his eyes. How that hand, his hand, would feel. If it would be constricting, or the opposite; controlled, strong, possessive.

Harry groaned again, something muffled, and Draco let his body tilt into his touch as his hands slid down his chest. His cock was aching to be touched, and instead of Draco’s own palm wrapping itself around his burgeoning erection, he let himself imagine it was Harry’s.

That Harry was gripping him as sturdy and strong as he would the tip of his broom. That he was licking his lips and looking intensely at Draco as he pulled upward along his needy length.

That instead of moaning ‘Malfoy’ in the stall next to him, Harry was there, pressing him into the shower wall, as he tugged and twisted Draco in his calloused palm.

Draco arched, pushing his shoulder blades into the wall as his hips canted forward into his waiting hands. It should have felt like it normally did, when he pulled himself off in the confines of his four-poster, silencing charms blocking off the noise from his surrounding mates.

But it didn’t feel anything like usual. Draco couldn’t recognize the familiar touch of his own slender fingers as they wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t feel the twist of his wrist as it pulled along his length.

He closed his eyes, and only felt Harry, capable and strong, moaning even louder now. The sound was practically in Draco’s ear, ‘Malfoy’, ‘Malfoy’, ‘Yes, fuck’.

His hands were moving on instinct, Draco’s mind only focused on the sounds of spraying water and Harry’s voice, guttural, desperate. What would he do if he knew Draco was there, so close and desperate as well, as one hand tugged rapidly around his need, the other one finding its way to his bollocks, palming them in a fierce grip.

Draco knew he was so close already, that just listening to Harry list potions ingredients could have gotten him off at this point, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to hold out and come with Harry.

It only took a few more moments before he could hear the unmistakable panting in the next stall, the sound so close it was ringing in Draco’s ears. He sped up his wrist, driving himself as close to the edge as possible, listening, waiting for that one final gasp.

“Oh, fuck, gonna come all over your gorgeous face, Malfoy,” Harry cried, and Draco finally let himself crest, coming hard and fast, coating his chest with drips of his pleasure.

His body was shaking as he leaned against the tile wall of the shower. Had all of that really just happened? Had he just pulled himself off to the sounds of Chosen Harry Potter, beating his own broomstick with Draco’s name on his lips?

He heard the pulse of the shower turn off, the sound of cotton dragging over wet skin. The sound of a shower curtain being yanked backward as Harry made his way to the sinks.

Draco started to panic. He knew he had two choices; either stay like a coward in the shower stall until Potter left, or pull his towel back around his waist and strut out like he hadn’t a care in the world.

It didn’t take him long to decide on which option to take. He only paused briefly, staring at his stomach covered in spunk. His wand was in his hand; it would only take a moment, one quick cleansing charm and another one to dampen his hair and make it look like he had been showering all along, minding his own business. Instead, he knotted his towel around his waist, and with his best Malfoy glare, he sauntered out of the stall.

He only had to glance into the mirror to see the look of surprise, quickly replaced with horror as realisation crossed over Potter’s reflected face. Draco couldn’t help but smirk, making sure to arch his chest in the fluorescent lights so Potter could see the trails of his pleasure spread across his skin.

“Enjoy your morning wank, Potter?” Draco leered as he washed his hands in the sink directly next to his nemesis. “I know I sure did.”

Without waiting for a response, Draco calmly strutted towards the door. Just as he was about to exit, he paused, turned his head and said over his shoulder, “Party should be interesting tonight. See you there.”


End file.
